


Sleeping with Other People

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (not really a Sleeping with Other People AU bc I've never seen it...but maybe it comes close??), Angst, F/M, Modern AU, Non-SHIELD AU, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Jemma have the kind of friendship that makes their significant others uncomfortable. And eventually, their relationships with other people start complicating their friendship as well. Told in a series of scenes over a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping with Other People

**Author's Note:**

> idek where this came from, it's not really like what i normally write, so sorry for the angst but ahhh!

_Winter_

Jemma groaned, rolling over to look at her alarm clock. Even just that small set of actions made half the muscles in her body groan in protest. She struggled to push herself up into a seated position, rubbing the back of her neck and taking inventory: head throbbing, nose running, face burning, despite the chill that swept the rest of her body.

 “Jemma?” a voice called through the front door. So it must’ve been a knock that woke her, not her alarm. “You up yet?”

 She tugged on her robe and plodded down the hall, reaching the door just as Fitz let himself in. He looked her up and down, taking in her puffy dressing gown as he shut the door behind him, leaning against it with his backpack.

 “You alright? You know it’s about 35 Celsius in here?”

 She shrugged and turned away to head into the small kitchen unit. “On your way to work?”

 “Yeah, thought I’d offer you a ride. I’m not sure you should go in, though.”

 Jemma leaned forward as she got the kettle going, pressing her forehead against the cool wood cabinet. “Why not? I’m fine.”

 He was suddenly behind her, close in the small space, and his hand slipped onto her forehead. She turned sharply to face him so that his hand fell away, and he frowned at her. “You have a fever.”

 “That’s not a scientifically accurate test,” she groused.

 “Well, your other symptoms point to the same conclusion, Dr. Simmons,” he said, putting his hands on her arms just above her elbows. “You’d best call in sick.”

 Jemma let her head roll backwards in exasperation and not a insignificant bit of exhaustion. “I can’t afford that.”

 “May can run the hospital without you.”

 “She shouldn’t have to,” she said plaintively.

 “I’ll call her myself if you want me to. If you’re afraid,” he suggested.

 “That’s not fair,” she grumbled as he led her back to bed. “You know I’ll do anything you claim I’m afraid of.”

 “Yes, you’re quite easy,” Fitz agreed, drawing the blankets up to her chin and then wedging them gently on either side of her like a burrito. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hip against her thigh, and took the hand which rested on top of the blankets, bouncing it gently on his knee. “Can I get you anything?”

 She shook her head against the pillows. “Got my water, got my phone. Everything else is useless for the time being.”

 “No long-distance diagnosing, you hear?” he warned, tucking a slightly sweat-dampened strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll warn May about that too.”

 She pouted at him but nodded, already feeling sleepy again.

 He looked at her for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek, then shucked off his backpack and reached inside. “I was going to save this for later, when I drove you home, but --”

 He handed her a giant red box, tied up with a silver bow.

 “Oh, Fitz, you shouldn’t have,” she sighed. “I didn’t get you anything--”

“I can’t tell you how long it took me to tie that thing,” he chuckled, gesturing to the bow.

“Bad hand day?” she grimaced sympathetically, squeezing his hand.

“It passed eventually.” He flexed his fingers in her grip experimentally. “Two years on, you’d think I’d have figured it out by now.” He shook his head, then smiled crookedly at her. “Go on, then, open it.”

She released his hand to untie the bow and removed the lid. She gasped when she saw the contents, then started to laugh.

“This is incredible, Fitz.”

“It’s a periodic table,” he explained unnecessarily, grinning down at her. He shifted his position so that he could look down at it from the same angle as her, supporting himself with an arm on a pillow just next to her head. “They tried to match each of the chocolates to the element -- H is for hazelnut, He for heather, Li for licorice, Be for Bee pollen -- some of them are a bit of a stretch, but...” He shrugged. “Thought it was kind of cool.”

“It’s brilliant.” She gazed at it for a moment longer, then let her head fall back onto the pillows, looking up at him from that angle. “Guess this isn’t really how either of us expected to be spending Valentine’s Day. I’m sick, we’re both single again--”

Fitz coughed. “Actually, Jemma, Ginger and I are back on.”

“Oh really?” She looked away to fit the lid back onto the chocolates. “When did that happen?”

“Two days ago. Ran into her at Mack’s gallery opening and -- yeah.”

Jemma tried to keep her mouth from twisting in judgment as she nodded, but the impulse was too strong. Fitz sighed.

“Jemma, I know you’re not her biggest fan--”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Fitz. Really,” she insisted in response to his raised eyebrows. “If she makes you happy, I’m happy.”

He fiddled with the edge of the blanket by her shoulder. “Thanks, Jemma.”

“How’s your thesis coming?”

“Terrible, as usual. Going to try to get some work in tonight at the library.” He gestured to his open backpack, in which she could see his laptop and a half dozen thick books. “I stayed up til 3 working on it last night but the light was making Ginger cross and she made me turn in.”

“See, that’s what I don’t understand,” she blurted out. “Why are you with someone who treats you like your work isn’t important--”

“That’s not--” He shook his head, sliding back down the bed away from her. “Not all of us have had suitors falling over us since we were sixteen, Jemma.”

“So you’re settling for her, then? First thing that comes around?” It was harsher than she meant. Or was it exactly as harsh as she’d intended?

“I’m willing to put in work,” he corrected firmly, still not looking at her. “I know all your relationships have been easy, but I’ve just about given up on the notion of a soulmate. It always feels like there’s something missing, and I have to accept that that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“You’re twenty-eight, Fitz,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his wrist gently. “There’s still time.” He nodded but she knew it was to appease her, not because he believed it. “And I’m sorry for giving you a hard time about Ginger. I just worry about you.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “Wish you wouldn’t, though.”

She glanced at her bedside clock. “You should go or you’ll be late to the lab. I’ll save the chocolates for later and we can try them together.”

“How long do you think it’ll take us to finish the box? Twenty minutes?”

“Ten, tops.” She grinned at him, and he finally returned a small smile. He squeezed her hand one more time and stood, shouldering his backpack on again.

“Sleep, okay, Jemma? You run yourself ragged, it’s no wonder you’re ill. I’ll check on you later.”

He came back during his lunch break, but she was asleep and he couldn’t bear to wake her, so he just made her some soup and left it next to the microwave with a note. He stopped by again between the lab and the library, and she seemed much improved, except for a persistent blush in her cheeks.

She didn’t tell him, though, that that came less from the fever than from a dream he’d woken her up from.

A dream in which she’d lain naked in Fitz’s sheets, watching him make her breakfast.

 

_Spring_

Jemma’s phone buzzed as she entered the kitchen. She smiled as she saw the caller ID and answered, placing it on her shoulder so she could tend to the noodles on the stove.

“Fitz, you know I have a date right now. Are you crashing?”

“Jemma, hi,” Fitz’s voice answered, sounding so distant and tired. “Sorry if I’m interrupting. I just thought you should know -- I’m in Scotland.”

“What?!” she yelped, dropping the spoon with a clatter. Walton appeared in the doorway, looking concerned, but she waved him back to the living room. “Fitz, what -- when -- what?!”

“Don’t freak out,” he sighed, a little belatedly. “It’s my mum. I only found out yesterday and I just booked the first flight I could find and --”

“What is it? Is she alright? If there’s anything I can do to help--”

“It’s a tumor, but most likely benign. She’s having surgery tomorrow -- well, later today, I suppose.” He sighed, though it was muffled like he was running a hand over his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jemma whispered, sinking to the ground, her back to the refrigerator. “Fitz, your mum -- she’s more a mum to me than my own mum, and if anything happens -- and you, you need me--”

“I knew you had plans with Walton, didn’t want to muck that up,” he interrupted her tearful spluttering.

“I should think this would take precedence!”

“It’d’ve been weird, don’t you think?”

“How?” she demanded, smacking a hand against the tile floor. “You’re my best friend in the world--”

“Jemma, the pasta’s boiling over,” Walton said. Jemma jumped -- she hadn’t realized he’d come back into the room.

“I should let you go,” Fitz said tiredly. “Sorry I crashed your date.”

 _I’m not_ , Jemma wanted to answer. _Let me come to you_ \-- but he’d already hung up.

“Oh, bloody hell!” she sobbed, when she stood and looked into the pot. All the noodles had clumped together and were stuck to the bottom.

“Hey, babe,” Walton murmured, hugging her from behind. “It’s okay. I’ll order us some pizza.”

Jemma was still in a sour mood twenty minutes later when they finally sat down to eat, the soggy, over-cooked pasta in the compost bin. She kept checking her phone, hoping Fitz would send more information or an apology -- for what she wasn’t sure -- or _something_.

Walton noticed, and as he picked the mushrooms off his slice, he said quietly, “Jemma, I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m not 100% okay with how close you are with Fitz.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “He’s my best friend in the world.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he shot back. “You’ve made that pretty clear. His name’s, like, your favorite word. Fitz this, Fitz that--”

“Well, when you’re the only two sixteen-year-olds at your university, you become close pretty quickly--”

“And now twelve years have passed and you’re still attached at the hip. He has a girlfriend but you’d never know it, the way he’s here every time I come over. I’m surprised you haven’t asked him to join us for a three-way yet.”

“What?” she spluttered. “Walton, you are out of line. Fitz and I would never -- we’re not -- that’s ridiculous.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it,” he shrugged. “But consider the complaint lodged.”

 

_Summer_

“How d’you think it went then?” Fitz said excitedly to Jemma, catching up to her in the hallway.

 “Oh, Fitz, you were brilliant,” Jemma gushed, beaming at him as she entered the coatroom. “Really. All your hard work was absolutely worth it. The idea was inspired, your research was impeccable, the presentation flawless--”

 “I didn’t stumble too much?” he asked nervously as she searched for her sweater and handbag. “If they deducted points for the number of times I said ‘erm’ I’d fail for certain.”

 “Not a chance,” she said firmly. “You’ll get highest honors for sure. And finally be a doctor, like me! Well, not exactly like me, but...”

He didn’t know where it came from, but he was suddenly hit by a wild urge to grab her elbow, spin her around, and just kiss her senseless -- deep and hard and proper like in those old movies she always made him watch.

“You alright?” she asked, lifting her hair above her collar as she straightened her sweater.

“Yep,” he replied too quickly, shaking his head slightly to get rid of the image of his hands on her waist and hers on his jaw, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks -- “You heading home?”

Her face fell and she frowned at the floor. “Yeah.”

“Hey,” he murmured, stepping towards her -- as close as he dared, considering his recent fantasy -- and gently taking her shoulders, bending his knees so he could catch her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Jemma let out a shuddering breath, turning her head away from him, eyes very wide. At last she said dully, “Walton cheated on me.”

“Oh, Jemma--”

“Several times, apparently.” She looked up at him with a forced smile. “So you were right. You always said there was something you didn’t like about him...”

“I was hoping I was just being overprotective,” he admitted. “So are you two...?” he added tentatively.

“Oh, no, we’re going to try to make it work.”

“Really?” She shot him a watery look and he did his best to wipe the incredulity off his face. “Sorry, just -- If the guy’s a jerk, he’s a jerk, Jemma. You can’t reform him. Or at least, it shouldn’t be your responsibility to do so.”

She shrugged, the motion dislodging his grip on her arms. “I guess you were right. At some point you get tired of hunting for the perfect person, and you’re willing to just try to make what you already have work.”

“Jemma--”

“I’ll be fine.” She stepped around him, searching in her bag for her car keys. “Where’s Ginger, by the way?”

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear, not quite meeting her questioning gaze. “Guess she was tired of hearing me talk about all this crap. I’m meeting her for dinner later, though, to celebrate.”

Jemma smiled at him sadly. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing you talk about all this crap, Fitz.”

“That’s because you’re the best.”

“Yeah.”

A long silence stretched between them. Jemma fiddled with her keyring and Fitz looked at the ceiling, fighting -- for goodness knows what reason -- against the sting of tears.

“Congratulations again, _Doctor_ Fitz,” Jemma said at last. “You’ve more than earned the title.” She gave him one last smile and headed for the exit.

“Hey, don’t jinx me!” he called after her. “I’ve not gotten the grade yet.” He heard her laugh and she waved but didn’t turn around.

  


_Fall_

“To getting rid of the toxic men in our lives,” Daisy toasted.

“Cheers to that,” Jemma muttered, clinking glasses with her.

“You had a bad boyfriend too, hmm?” Ginger asked Daisy sympathetically.

Jemma shifted on her chair. Lately she’d found just the sound of Fitz’s girlfriend’s voice absolutely infuriating. She knew there was no logical reason for it, so she tried to focus on the stars visible from her balcony rather than on the woman talking to Daisy.

“Yeah, he was a real jackass, couldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but hey, I got a few good parting shots at him. Broke a bunch of his shit.”

“Daisy,” Jemma scolded, but she laughed. Grant really had been a tosser, and Daisy was well shot of him. Daisy claimed Jemma's dumping of Walton had given her inspiration.

“Speaking of jackasses, did you guys see Garrett’s latest interview?” Daisy asked, taking another chug of her beer.

“Oh my god I actually did!” Ginger gasped, sitting forward eagerly.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about politics--” Fitz began at the same moment that Jemma said mock-brightly, “Oh, Ginger, I didn’t realize you followed the news!”

“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” Ginger gushed, completely missing the threatening looks Daisy and Fitz both sent Jemma. “He’s such an inspiration.”

“I’m sorry, are you serious?” Jemma laughed. “He’s a nightmare. He’s a threat to everything I stand for, personally, but he’s also going to turn this country into a paradise for old white men to accumulate wealth.”

“Oh dear, I’ve really stepped in it,” Ginger giggled, leaning back against Fitz. “I should have realized you’d support that crazy hippie.”

“Yes, I do,” Jemma replied fiercely. “And if you had any shred of intelligence you would do the same.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Ginger demanded indignantly, gripping Fitz’s hand tightly. “Make her stop, Fitz!”

“Jemma, let it drop.” By Fitz’s voice Jemma could tell he was just barely restraining himself from yelling at her, and _god_ did she want that, just for things to snap wide open at last.

“No, I’m sorry, I just don’t understand how Ginger, as a woman, can support those kinds of policies.” Jemma met Fitz’s glare boldly, then glanced back to his girlfriend. “He’s expressly stated that he intends to sign into law provisions which would make it incredibly difficult for women to have access to the healthcare they need--”

“He’s just following his values!” Ginger squeaked. “He’s a man of faith--”

“Fitz, how can you sit there and let her talk this nonsense?” Jemma demanded. Fitz shifted uncomfortably, exchanging a glance with Daisy, but this time he kept silent. “Garrett represents everything that’s wrong with your society, Ginger, and if you can’t see that you really are more of an airhead than I always thought.”

“I think I’d best go,” Ginger tutted, standing and straightening her dress.

“I’ll see you out,” Fitz muttered, setting his drink down and following her out, a hand on her lower back.

Jemma stared into her beer, unsure what to do with her warring emotions. She waited for Daisy to say something, an admonition or congratulations, but her friend just watched her, eyebrows raised.

“I’d best scrub the frying pan before it sets,” Jemma said at last, voice too high.

Daisy followed her off the balcony into the apartment. Jemma silently handed her dishes to dry, which Daisy did half-heartedly.

“Hey, here’s a weird idea,” Daisy said abruptly, setting down a plate with a loud clunk. “Did you and Fitz ever think about dating?”

“What? No! We’d never -- it’s not--”

“Because there’s this strange thing where you two never seem happy unless you’re both single. Which is weird, right? But then I thought, hey, when Fitz and Jemma aren’t dating other people, they’re basically dating each other.”

“That’s preposterous--”

“Is it? You spend every waking minute together. The only thing that gets in the way is the other people you date, who are less than fond of the fact that Fitz knows all your friends and colleagues and weird tics and the fact that you make his lunch every other day-- Heck, you lived together until your boyfriend at the time complained -- ”

“We’re best friends!”

“Who never seem to like each other’s significant others, yeah.” Daisy raised her eyebrows significantly. “It’s just a theory, Dr. Simmons, but you put on quite a performance tonight and I’m not the only one who noticed.”

“God, he’s never going to forgive me, is he?” Jemma whispered, her hands stilling in the washwater.

“I don’t know about that.” Daisy squeezed Jemma’s shoulder and set down her dishtowel. “I gotta bounce. May’s got me on the nightshift. And until I’m done with my residency, she’s gonna notice every minute I’m late and hold it against me. Worse than my mom, that woman is.”

Jemma chewed her lip and watched her friend gather her things. Daisy paused at the door, looking back at her.

“Maybe it’s for the best, Jem. If there’s something there, your friendship can handle this. If it can’t-- as hard as it is to consider, maybe it’s time you both move on.”

Jemma sank onto the couch as the door closed behind Daisy. _But how do you move on from someone you never dated? From someone who is a part of the very fabric of your life?_ She groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

There was a knock at the door.

Maybe Daisy had left her phone--

But Fitz stood there, alone, brow furrowed and eyes on her with an intensity she’d rarely, if ever, seen there.

“Did you forget something? Where’s Ginger?” she asked politely, wanting so desperately to not be alone with him at this moment that she’d even take his stupid girlfriend for company --

“Are you jealous of her?” he demanded without preamble.

“What?” she spluttered, staring at him for a beat before turning away and hurrying back into the apartment, forgetting that that allowed him to follow her in, to close the door, which she heard him do as she reached the balcony and began clearing the empty bottles and glasses. “What would give you that idea, I can’t imagine--”

“I’ve never seen you like this with anyone before, Jemma,” he said, voice low. “I know you’ve never liked Ginger, and I know you’re proud, sometimes arrogant, certainly, but -- you’re being unkind, outright cruel, even. And I’ve wracked my brain why you can’t just keep it to yourself, and the only solution I can come up with is that you’re jealous of her.”

Jemma turned to look at him, framed in the doorway, lit from behind. Her hair kept flying into her eyes from the breeze and she had to brush it aside with her fingers just to meet his eyes. He was just standing there, looking at her, so many questions in his face, and she was so used to years of him looking away that she didn’t know what to do with this development. Worst of all, he didn’t sound angry, as she needed him to be. Just confused.

“I’m not -- I don’t --”

“And it still doesn’t make sense to me, to be honest,” he continued, taking another step towards her. “Because for you to be jealous of her, that would mean you ... want me.” The words came out slightly strangled and his eyebrows pinched together and up, widening his eyes. “Which is not something I can fathom, but... Are you, Jemma? Are you jealous of Ginger?”

“You deserve so much better, Fitz,” she bit off acerbically. She could tell him the truth even if she couldn’t answer his question. “You deserve someone who listens to you and _sees you_ and finds your little quirks charming rather than annoying, who doesn’t think science is a matter of opinion, who wants to watch David Attenborough documentaries with you and will get up at 3AM to make you sandwiches, not yell at you to turn the lights off--”

“What, someone like you, then?”

“Yes!” she cried desperately, before she could stop herself.

They stared at each other for a wild moment, both of their chests heaving with things said and unsaid and then they were crashing into each other, knocking aside the plastic patio furniture in their urgency. Hands grabbed at faces as their mouths collided bruisingly. Jemma walked backward to absorb the shock of their collision until finally they hit the railing of the balcony. One of Fitz’s arms slid around her back and waist, cradling her, pulling her away from the edge and tighter against him.

Jemma tried to gasp for air between their heated kisses, but Fitz barely even gave her room for that. It was only his tongue, meeting hers and pushing past, sending an anticipatory shiver through her whole body, that brought her back to reality.

She pushed him away by his shoulders, though he snugged his arms tighter around her in response. “Fitz, you can’t--”

“Jemma,” he panted, resting his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, terrified of drowning in that endless blue of his. “Please, Jemma. Let this happen. Let me stay.”

“You have a girlfriend, Fitz,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Stop saying my name,” he pleaded. “I won’t be able to bear it--”

“You should go,” Jemma said breathlessly, grabbing his hands from her back and untangling herself. “You should go.”

He gaped at her, all the disbelief she felt reflected back to her from his face. Years they’d avoided this, so many moments edging up to this precipice and then retreating, never in the same place at the same time.

“Fitz, this isn’t--”

“Please don’t say anything you’ll regret,” he cut her off, turning in the balcony doorway. “Because -- because I don’t regret this.”

She waited until the front door closed behind him before she sank to the ground and cried.

 

_Winter_

Jemma waited nervously on the doorstep of the neat little stone cottage, scuffing her boot through the fluffy snow settled there. It was light now, but it was supposed to pick up, and chances were she’d be trapped here if everything went south.

No. Not this time. She straightened her back and raised her fist to knock again.

The door swung inward, and Fitz’s mother beamed out at her.

“Jemma, love, Leo didn’t tell me you were coming! I’ve not prepared the guest room--”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitz, it was a last-minute decision, I hope I’m not interrupting--”

“Nonsense, love, we were just unwrapping presents, you’ll be a perfect surprise. Though I’ll have to be up all night knitting you a sweater... Come in, come in.” Mrs. Fitz practically shoved Jemma down the hallway ahead of her. “Leo, look who’s come round for tea!”

Fitz was sprawled across the living room floor, rattling a box next to his ear. He glanced up as the women entered the room and scrambled up, dusting off his trousers.

“Oh.” He looked from Jemma to his mum and back again, eyes very wide. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood, then?”

“Yeah,” Jemma laughed breathlessly, “just a quick five-hour drive.”

Mrs. Fitz waited for them to say more, but they both looked at the floor and she let out a frustrated little tut. “You know, it’s getting a little toasty in here with all three of us -- why don’t you two go talk in the garden and I’ll put the kettle on.”

Their awkward silence followed them into the tiny backyard. Fitz stamped his sneakers into the snow, frowning. Seeing him shiver, Jemma took off her coat, which she had never removed in the house, and draped it over his shoulders.

“No, you’ll just be cold in a moment--” Fitz protested, starting to take the jacket off.

“Then we’ll keep each other warm,” she said firmly.

This time he held her eyes, lips quivering slightly.

“Daisy told me about Ginger,” Jemma said quietly at last. “When did you--”

“Three months ago.”

“Right after we--?”

“Yeah.”

Jemma let out a breath which ghosted in the cold air. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fitz wedged his hands into his pockets, his whole body tense. “I wanted us to be about us, not about other people. And I needed time to figure this out. And I thought you might as well -- to figure out whether that was just a moment, a mistake, or--”

“Not a mistake, Fitz,” she said urgently, moving to him, touching his exposed wrist. “Never that.”

His eyes flitted over her face. She blushed under his gaze, but it felt good, to see him looking, to let him look. He surprised her by reaching up to brush a large snowflake off her cheek.

“I’m scared, Fitz,” she whispered, stilling his hand. “You’re the best thing in my life. What if this goes wrong?”

“How can it?” He was looking at her with an impossible expression of longing. “In twenty-eight years you are the only person I’ve met I want to grow old with.”

She couldn’t suppress a ridiculous, embarrassing whimper at that. Fitz chuckled, sliding his hand down to cup her face.

“I’m hoping that was a good reaction,” he murmured.

“I don’t know when I realized you’ve ruined me for all other men,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “but you have. And I thought that maybe kissing you, if it were bad, maybe we could give it up, chalk it up as a failed experiment, but --”

“But that was a damn good kiss.” He tilted his head slightly, nose brushing hers.

“The best,” she whispered.

His lips grazed her upper lip, and she opened her mouth, wanting to take him wholly, not knowing how to get enough of him. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and she chased him but he pulled back ever so slightly, their panting breaths mingling. They eased towards each other, filled with the same explosive force that had brought them together on her balcony but fighting it, wanting to make this kiss different.

And it was, all soft and patient and exquisitely perfect, but it was also exactly the same, from the way Jemma clung to Fitz’s face with both hands to his arms wrapped around her lower back so that he tilted her backwards ever so slightly.

But this kiss ended in a series of other kisses, which Jemma pressed to Fitz’s mouth as he pulled away. His eyes stayed closed longer after they’d parted, his lashes gathering a dusting of snowflakes.

“So,” he murmured eventually, nuzzling her cheek, “are we thinking an open relationship? I know how you feel about sleeping with other people--”

An indignant yelp made Mrs. Fitz look out the window in time to see Jemma shove Fitz to the ground and begin piling snow on top of him before he pulled her down for a kiss.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts??? Find me on Tumblr -- I'm grapehyasynth over there as well!


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